A Clockwork Fairytale (36 page)

“Aye, makes sense. Are you going to dress first?”

“No.”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Melba, you’re making this very difficult for me.”

“Why’s it difficult? You ain’t a monk no more. I don’t mind you seeing me in me underthings.”

“Fine! I give up trying to be a gentleman.” He sprang up and wrenched his shirt off over his head before dropping it onto the chair. Melba stopped breathing as he turned to face her and she stared at the lean, taut muscles in his chest and arms. He met her gaze steadily, then walked past her and splashed water from the bowl on his face.

Melba gaped at him, her heart thudding in her ears as he rubbed water over his chest and arms and toweled the drips from his skin. “Go and sit on the chair, Melba,” he instructed.”

She frowned.

“Chop, chop. You’re still pledged to me. That makes me your master, so you must do what I tell you.” Turk picked up the bowl of water and muscles flexed under his skin. “If you want to wash your feet, sit down, or I’ll do mine first.”

Melba stepped back and plopped down onto a chair. As Turk approached with the bowl, she lifted her feet and he put it on the ground in front of her. She wriggled her toes in the warm water and released a sigh of relief. Turk leaned a hip against the bedpost and watched as she lathered and rinsed her feet. Then he spread a towel on the ground for her to stand on and she dried her feet while he washed his.

Across his back and shoulders, muscles bunched and flexed under his skin as he leaned forward. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Stop staring at me and get into bed, Melba,” Turk said without looking up. “We need to sleep during daylight hours. When it’s dark later I shall go down to the quay and try to buy us passage across the Channel to the mainland.”

She wanted to stay on Malverne Isle to make sure her father was all right. But she didn’t want to argue with Turk about that now. She had other things on her mind. Obediently she went to the bed and snuggled under the covers. She propped her head on her arm to watch him while he dried his feet. “That feels much better,” he said, stretching and tossing the damp towel on the washstand.

She hoped he might come to her. Instead, he started toward the chaise lounge. Why did he have to be so well behaved? “Since you rescued me, you ain’t kissed me once like you did last night,” she said.

Turk halted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Kissing you on the street is one thing. Kissing you here is a whole different matter.”

“I ain’t daft. I know that.” But it still hurt that he hadn’t been overwhelmed with the need to kiss her and forgotten to be careful.

Turk angled his head to look at her and she beckoned him. He gave a little grunt and she thought he would resist. Then the muscles in his arms bunched as he clenched and released his fists and he came to the bed.

“You’re enough to tempt a monk.” He reached out to stroke the hair off her forehead. She caught his hand and pressed her lips to his palm.

“Take off your trousers and get in bed with me,” she whispered.

“Great Earth Jinn, Melba! I didn’t do very well at training you to be a young lady, did I?”

“I don’t want to be like them Court ladies, anyhow. I like being me.”

“I like you being you, too.” Turk smiled down at her and stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Then he bent and kissed her. She linked her arms around his neck and pulled him down, needing to have him close against her. He stretched out on top of the covers beside her, his hand gliding up and down her back as they kissed.

For a long time she lost herself in the sensation, her fingers touching his face and neck, trailing over his shoulders and chest. She badly wanted him to touch her as well. “Turk, will you tou—”

He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “I’m trying hard to hang on to a modicum of control here, Melba.”

She kissed his fingertip. “I love you, Turk, so anything we do is all right.”

“Oh, Melba…” He cupped her face in his palm and kissed her longer and harder than he had before. “I love you too, my little Star. But until your father gives me permission to marry you, we must restrain ourselves.”

Melba sighed. She didn’t want to do anything to upset her father, especially when he was so sick. She snuggled up close to Turk and kissed his chest.

“Go to sleep, my little Star,” Turk whispered. Then he chuckled, wryly. “One of us had better get some rest.”

***

Fire flowed through Turk’s veins, heightening all his senses. The soft brush of Melba’s breath tickled his chest and his belly tingled where her hand curled against him. Every scent, sound, and feeling seemed magnified. He had never felt more alive than he did lying on the bed with Melba asleep beside him. But the pleasure was so intense it verged on pain.

Although he did not want to leave her side, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this closeness.

He badly needed to sleep and he would get no rest on the bed. He kissed Melba softly on the forehead and slid off the side onto his feet. He emptied and cleaned out the washbowl before refilling it with the remaining fresh water from the jug. Then he washed his face again and splashed cold drips on his chest to cool himself. He settled on the chaise and closed his eyes, his mind and body humming with everything that had happened.

He must have dozed because he came to some time later with a stiff neck from the awkward position. His gaze shot straight to Melba but she was still asleep. There was no clock in the room, so rubbing his neck muscles, he went to the door and checked outside. The sun had fallen, the alley was now in shadow. In another hour, it would be dark enough for him to creep down to the docks to find a ship willing to give them passage to the mainland.

The sound of raised male voices in Madam Regina’s bedroom on the other side of the bookcase wall made him still, but the words were indistinct. With a twinge of unease, he moved closer to the wall. A shout and a door slamming somewhere in the house raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Instinct told him something was wrong. He pulled on his boots, went outside, and crept along the alley toward the front of the Red House. At the corner, he peered around to find the courtyard empty and silent. This early in the evening, he would not expect the place to be busy, but there should be some men arriving.

After a few minutes watching the area, he sidled along the front of the house. He froze when he noticed two bluejackets standing at the entrance to the courtyard. They were turning away customers who were trying to get into the brothel.

Were the bluejackets conducting a routine search of the house, or had someone seen Melba and alerted Vittorio? Whatever the reason, Turk could not take chances. It was time to wake Melba and get her out of here. Turk started sidling back the way he had come when a woman’s scream pierced the air. His heart lurched, but it was not Melba’s voice. Then another voice shouted—a voice he knew.
Dante
.

The guards at the gate glanced around at the sound and Turk froze, but a moment later a noisy drunk grabbed their attention. With a wary eye on the guards, Turk dashed through the shadows to the open front door. A single bluejacket stood guard just inside. His eyes widened as Turk stepped in and he fumbled with the hilt of his sword. Turk felled him with a kick to the jaw before the man could draw.

“Don’t make me hurt her again, Dante.” Vittorio’s unmistakable smooth drawl came from the reception room on the right.

“Cybal has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone,” Dante shouted.

Turk pressed his back to the wall and glanced through the partially open door. There were four bluejackets in the room along with Vittorio. One of them held Dante, who was dressed only in his trousers, with his hands tied at his back and his ankles shackled. Two other sailors held down the petite dark-haired woman across a stool. Vittorio stood at her side holding a knife. A scarlet slash along her cheekbone had just started to drip blood.

“Tell me where they are and I won’t hurt her again,” Vittorio said to Dante.

“You’re a coward, Vitto. Leave Cybal alone and deal with me.”

Vittorio wandered across to Dante and stared him in the face. “I’m angry enough with you to toss you down The Well. But you’re still my brother.” He turned abruptly and returned to the woman who whimpered, staring up at him with huge terrified eyes.

Grabbing the woman’s hair, Vittorio yanked her head back and brandished the knife in front of her face. “Tell him, Dante, please,” she whispered.

Dante jerked against his restraints and bellowed in frustration. “Once this is over I shall never speak with you again. You are no brother of mine, Vitto. Do you hear me? You are beneath contempt. Melba and Turk are somewhere in the house.”

Vittorio shouted to his guards, but Turk didn’t wait to hear anymore. He belted out the front door, around the house, and down the alley at the side. Now Vittorio knew they were here, he would not stop searching until he found them.

Melba raised her head from the pillow as he dashed through the door. “Get dressed,” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips.

Without a word, she jumped off the bed and picked up the shirt she had pulled off earlier. Before Turk could don his own shirt the door from the alley crashed open and three bluejackets barged into the room. Melba squealed and held the shirt in front of her while Turk pivoted and kicked out. He downed one man straight away, but the other two had drawn swords and he backed up to avoid being slashed.

Vittorio strode through the door scowling. He took one look at Melba in her underwear and pulled his own sword from its scabbard. He advanced on Turk with murder on his face. “I should flay you alive for abducting the princess and raping her—”

“That ain’t what happened and you know it,” Melba shouted. “He rescued me fr—”

“Shut up, you whore.” Vittorio swung his blade around and pointed it at Melba. Even though the bed was between them and he couldn’t reach her, she jumped back.

The two bluejackets still standing glanced at Vittorio as he turned on Melba. Turk took his opportunity to fell another with a kick to the chin and down the last with two body blows. As he reached for one of the bluejacket’s swords, four more of Vittorio’s men charged in the door. Desperation surged through Turk. If Vittorio took Melba back, he would waste no time in marrying her. Turk felled another sailor with a kick while they drew their weapons. But he was not a trained swordsman and, after a short scuffle, the remaining three men backed him into a corner with their blades pointing at his chest.

Vittorio snagged the cutoff trousers from the floor with the point of his sword and tossed them at Melba. “Get dressed.” He sheathed his sword and swung around, glaring at Turk. “You are the architect of all my problems, foreign scum.” He strode forward and punched Turk in the belly.

Turk’s lungs burned as he jackknifed over and gasped to suck air through the agony. Two of the soldiers grabbed his arms and dragged him upright. Through the haze of pain, he raised his head to see Melba hurriedly pulling on her trousers.

“Don’t look at my betrothed.” Vittorio punched him in the face and his head snapped to the side. Shafts of burning pain seared through his head and his nose felt as if it had exploded.

“Leave him be,” Melba shouted.

“Hold her back,” Vittorio commanded one of the guards. Turk tried to speak but Vittorio hit him in the face again and the world seemed to tilt. The guards holding his arms let go and he sank to his knees. Then another blow knocked him back against the wall and everything went dark.

***

Turk came to with a thumping headache. One of his eyes was swollen shut, while his nose throbbed and his lips were sore and caked with dried blood. Two guards half carried, half dragged him between them. The sound of water and the smell of salt, fish, and ale told him he was on the docks.

Melba! Was she all right? For a few seconds, he continued to hang in the guards’ grip, almost paralyzed with fear for her. Then he realized Vittorio would not hurt her until after they were married, so she would be safe for the moment. Although he had no idea how he would rescue her. From the pounding of boots, he judged there were six or eight bluejackets. In his present state, he had no chance of fighting his way free. He wasn’t even sure he could walk.

He gulped air and pain exploded through his chest. A gasp burst from him as he scrabbled his feet to take his own weight. “He’s conscious, your honor,” the sailor on his right shouted.

They all stopped. Turk raised his head and cracked open his good eye. Vittorio halted in front of him and held up a lantern. “Just in time. I wouldn’t want you to miss what I have planned for you.”

He walked away and they moved off again. As Turk got his bearings, he realized they had nearly reached the Royal Victualler’s office at the northern end of the harbor. Royal barges filled the berths to his left while a few dockworkers still unloaded goods and carried out maintenance.

They stopped when they reached Vittorio’s office and the guards pushed Turk along an alley beside the warehouse next door. A door was unlocked and the bluejackets shoved him in front of them down slippery stone steps. They must be taking him to the dungeon underneath the Royal Victualler’s office where Vittorio kept men condemned to die in The Well.

In the back of Turk’s mind he had expected this to be his fate, but the reality stole the last of his strength.
He would not be able to protect Melba from Vittorio
. He tripped and his bare shoulder crashed into the stone wall. He barely had time to catch his balance before the bluejackets shoved him again. He fell to his knees and crawled down the last few steps to land in a heap at the bottom.